


Trapped in Autumn

by Harbinger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Loki's Dubious Morality, Stream of Consciousness, what I did instead of studying for finals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harbinger/pseuds/Harbinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods should never be bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of studying for a final one morning, I wrote this. Title credit is to HIM. I haven't written stream of consciousness in ages, so it kinda sucks.

This is not the first time they've imprisoned him.

Loki knows, with his nature, that it will likely not be the last either.

He remembers well the last time he was privy to the underbelly of Asgard. He remembers well how the innards of his son had felt against his naked flesh, how the harsh rock at his spine had dug brutally into his skin, how the venom had eaten away at his face, his neck, his mouth when he opened it to scream. Sigyn had done what she could; dear, sweet Sigyn, his Sigyn who stood by his side until she had no choice but to leave him. Oh, Loki remembers. Loki remembers and he hates.

His freedom was supposed to have set off Ragnarok, according to the human bards that had written fictions of them.

Perhaps this time when he is freed he will bring about the end.

Perhaps not.

This time there is no rock. No serpent. No dear Sigyn to catch any venom. This time there is glass and three white walls so bright that his eyes cannot take the hue of them. This time there is a small table, one chair, with a few books that he has read over and over and over and over and over and

He hates it.

No, hate is the wrong word for it. Hate is not powerful enough.

He  _loathes_  it.  _Abhors_  it with a passion that brings the taste of anger to his tongue, warping his senses until red tinges over his sight and a light sheen of sweat covers his entire body. 

Would that they beat him.

Would that they banished him.

Would that they done anything but left him here to  _ROT_!

Even death would have been a far kinder fate than to sit here, day in, day out, wasting away.

Oh, he's not abused. They feed him well. He always has water. Fresh, if somewhat ragtag, clothing is provided each day to him. His enclosure is clean. But he wastes all the same.

Loki can feel the brilliance in his mind beginning to slip from him. Greedy fingers reach for the knowledge he has accumulated for centuries, for decades, for years and it dances just out of reach. 

The cage dampens his magic to the point where even the simplest of spells are beyond his once-far-flung grasp. 

No magic.

No trickery.

No pranks.

No one to speak to.

Nothing to look at but three empty walls and a glass shield that provides a simplistic view of the outside world which is naught but cold stone because they buried him.

He swings between extremes now.

Sometimes he rises and paces back and forth, wearing a track into the cold ground as his thoughts ripple and writhe back and forth. 

At times, he harbors thoughts of revenge, spans out massive plans that stretch not just for years but for decades, for centuries, for millennia, carefully plotted to allow him to enjoy the slow killing of everyone who has ever harmed him. Loki schemes, because Loki is good at that, and he plans and he plots and then he swings the other way.

Sometimes he leans against the glass, imagines the Allfather ( _Father_ ) walking down with Thor ( _Brother_ ) and telling him he is free now and Loki rejoices, promises loyalty and fealty forevermore to the King of the Realm Eternal, if only to escape this maddening boredom. 

Those particular day dreams often end with him slamming a fist into the glass until his hand comes away bloody and battered. They never end well.

Loki knows he has no chance of redemption.

The weeks pass and he falls further into a sense of stagnation that he fears will never come to pass.

He remembers tell of the human afterlifes; of Heaven, of Hell, and of Purgatory. Loki comes to realize that this is Purgatory. Heaven would have been getting away with his crimes and Hell would have been severe torture. 

Or is it? Purgatory or Hell?

Which would he prefer, given the choice?

Was it possible this was both?

Loki is not certain anymore.

He is  _so_  bored.

He thinks, for about a month, to stop cooperating. He stops eating, barely drinks, refuses clothing and baths and all good things he is given. It doesn't last long. They threaten him with worse things if he does not straighten up.

So he eats again. If only just.

It gets to the point where he settles with his back against the white wall directly adjacent to the glass and plays with his hands. Or with his hair. Or with the hem of his shirt or the waist of his trousers. His hair is long now, longer than he likes but no one is stupid enough to give him anything to cut it with.

There is, after all, a reason he is feared for his skill with throwing daggers. 

He is playing with his hands when the sound of the heavy, oaken door opening catches his attention. He knows those steps anywhere. He would know those steps dead.

Thor has come at last.

" _You must be truly desperate, to come to me for help_." 

The comment is almost off-hand, drawling and lazy and he slowly releases his fingers and leans his head back to meet with Thor's hard, slate eyes.

" _You should know_ ," the golden heir of Asgard says firmly, " _that when you betray me, I will kill you_."

Loki's lips bend into the tiniest of smiles, the expression almost warm. Freedom; he can all but taste it. Thor needs him too badly to let him continue to languish down here. He lifts his head from where it reclines against the wall, feeling already the synapses firing all the faster.

" _When do we start_?" 


End file.
